


Seven Percent

by IdleLeaves



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drabble Sequence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9235694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdleLeaves/pseuds/IdleLeaves
Summary: The first time, Sigrun leaped in front of him before the troll could strike. The second time, he isn't so lucky.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ArgylePirateWD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArgylePirateWD/gifts).



> Canon-divergent AU.

When it happens, they are less than three days from the coast. Less than three days from a planned rendezvous with the quarantine vessel that will take them from the Silent World and carry them to Skutskär, just a few hours from Mora by train.

Reynir is doing nothing more dangerous than helping Mikkel place their newest book acquisitions into storage, when the smallest of trolls uncurls from the underside of the tank and strikes, sinking its teeth into Reynir's leg, sending him stumbling backward to the ground.

Sigrun's knife squelches through the troll's head moments later, moments too late.

* * *

Sigrun doesn't yell at him. She yells at everyone else, though, during the argument that follows once Reynir's wounds have been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged. When her voice at last begins to falter, Tuuri's rises, instead, in both pitch and panic; Mikkel is able to calm her with the same careful, measured tones that didn't work on Sigrun. Through it all, Lalli is silent, and Emil seems to speak only when spoken to.

Reynir starts to shiver despite the blanket around his shoulders, and finds he can no longer make out their words over the blood pulsing in his ears.

* * *

Mikkel carries a mattress and blankets to the tank's storage bay. Their meagre food supplies, as well as a large number of books, have to be moved to make it fit; the living quarters of the tank will be even more crowded, now, and there was little enough room for them all before. But this is the best solution they have, especially for Tuuri, who needs to be protected now more than ever.

"Try to rest," Mikkel tells him, and slides the door closed. Reynir lies down obediently, but stays awake for a long time, eyes open, in the dark.

* * *

The heaviness that settles into his chest does not fade. When his cheeks flush, he fears the beginning of fever; he unwinds his bandages and stares at his wounds.

Mikkel said it may take days.

He starts a letter to his family, but can't get past the first line and turns to books, instead. The words are foreign, but in one there are illustrations that remind him of home. Hildur would like this, he thinks. Maybe, if the book isn't worth much, the team would send it to her when--

When.

His stomach twists. (That's one of the symptoms, too.)

* * *

A wide band of evening light slants across the storage bay when the heavy door scrapes open. Reynir expects Mikkel, but it's Lalli, instead, silhouetted against the setting sun; the smile Reynir offers him does not quite reach his eyes.

Lalli doesn't speak, but reaches into his pocket and withdraws a cookie, offering it with an extended arm and an open palm. Reynir accepts it with some small measure of surprise, and as he makes another attempt at a smile Lalli begins to withdraw.

"Thank you," Reynir manages, in Finnish. That, and _I'm sorry_ , are the only phrases he knows.

* * *

The quarantine ship waits for them in the harbour. Reynir is taken aboard first, led directly to one of a number of small, single-bed, translucent-walled rooms. His blood is drawn, his temperature taken, his bandages pulled back and his leg examined. Then, he is left alone.

The rooms on either side of him are empty – the crew (his friends) must be elsewhere. There is no response from the room-to-room intercom, so he paces back and forth until his leg throbs. The overhead lights dim for the night; for the first time since this all began, Reynir's eyes blur with tears.

* * *

He wakes to a kind voice, and a quarantine technician in the antechamber of his room. Her words, calm as they are, send him scrambling out of bed; he shakes his head, makes sure he's really awake. After a moment she repeats herself, but he's still speechless, and just watches as she places a sheet of paper in the tray slot beside his door.

As she exits into the corridor, Reynir reaches for the paper. The columns of numbers and lab values on the page mean almost nothing to him; the red word at the top, however, means everything.

 _Immune_.

* * *

He is left, still, with questions, and all of them start with 'why'. His thoughts are of home – of his family, and their quiet farm in its quiet village. Of his siblings, and the travels he could not share, the world open to them while he waited at home. Of his parents, waiting also. And then – of their faces, tight with worry when letters were few and far between; of their distress when Bjarni missed his train and arrived two days late; of their hushed conversations late at night when they thought Reynir wasn't listening.

Reynir begins, then, to understand.

* * *

When his weeks of quarantine have finished, Reynir is allowed outside his room; he takes the stairs to the observation deck and emerges into daylight. Before his eyes can even adjust – he's been fourteen days without windows – Tuuri greets him with a squeal and a hug. Sigrun slaps him on the back; Emil offers a handshake; even Lalli reaches to pat him on the shoulder. Mikkel asks them all to please give Reynir space, but doesn't look at all bothered when none of them listen.

On the horizon, the clouds are parting, and narrow rays of sunlight are shining through.

**Author's Note:**

> The immunity rate in Iceland: 7%.


End file.
